


Umbrella

by neocitybynight



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, slight nomin if you squint, this is a sad one guys so buckle up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocitybynight/pseuds/neocitybynight
Summary: After the sudden death of your boyfriend Jaemin, you find comfort in his best friend Jeno, who you haven’t seen in years but have never been able to completely shake from your mind.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Reader, Na Jaemin/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

Black. It’s the color of unfurled umbrellas, of somber dresses and suit jackets, the rough priest’s robes, the shining hearse, the rich dark earth that will become his final resting place. As you watch the pallbearers lower the coffin into the ground, you wonder if you’re a monster because you haven’t cried yet.

One week. It’s been a week since your boyfriend died, and you haven’t shed a tear. It all happened very suddenly - Saturday morning you were slaving on an essay that was due the week before, but after explaining your situation, the professor had given you an extension. You’d asked Jaemin to come over and keep you company, but he said he had to clean up the house a bit before you came over for date night. When you’d asked why his roommates couldn’t take care of it - Renjun, Donghyuck and Jisung all had perfectly working arms, in your recollection - he’d just sent a winky face, saying that he’d pledged to be more responsible and that he’d make it up to you. Knowing Jaemin, that meant a long marathon of that new Netflix drama you’d both gotten into, and an even longer night spent between his sheets, the grey ones that always kind of smelled like lavender.

Two hours later, you’d gotten a frantic call from Jisung. Jaemin had slipped and fallen, he said, he’d returned from Chenle’s to find the older boy lying unconscious on the wet floor, mop in hand, a pool of blood seeping from the back of his head. He was on the way to the hospital right now, and did you want to come, he thought Jaemin would like to see you when he woke up.

Except he never woke up. You’ll never forget the look on Mr. Na’s face, the tremble of Mrs. Na’s thin white hands as she clutched the edge of her son’s bed, the only solid object in sight, as the doctor told them the grave news: Jaemin was, for all intents and purposes, brain dead. The odds of him recovering were less than 20%. At this point, Jaemin’s father, normally a kind, mild-mannered man who never raised his voice, had started shouting, screaming through tears that the doctors had to be able to do something, there had to be a way to bring his son back. 

This had been the point when you’d left. After a week, one of the most painful ones of your life, split between midterms and sitting beside his bed, watching his chest rise and fall with the help of a ventilator, you’d gotten a call from Jaemin’s mother. They had decided to take him off of life support, and they wanted you to be there when it happened. You’d meant so much to Jaemin over the last two and a half years, it only felt right.

As you stood in the hospital room, looking down at the pale shell of the boy who used to be your boyfriend, sharp fragments of memories came flooding back. Jaemin, doodling funny things in your spiral during the bore of a freshman seminar, where you’d met. Jaemin, whose romantic idea of a first date was feeding ducks in the park, after you’d watched (and roundly ridiculed) Howard the Duck in your media studies class, and it was only after forty white-knuckled minutes of him gingerly poking shredded bread at a friendly family of mallards that you’d finally gotten him to admit the issue: he had a fear of ducks. Jaemin trembling, head pressed into the crook of your neck, thrusting deep inside of you, as waves of pleasure overtook you both, how he’d breathed _I love you_ into your sweaty skin, over and over again, until it became a kind of mantra. Jaemin, who took every opportunity to tease you - you swore he loved it when he said something stupid and you aimed a light punch at his arm - who was always thinking of new things to try, new places to explore. Jaemin, who’d driven you to his lake house for your last anniversary and sat with you on the beach, talking until the dawn light spread its rosy fingers across the horizon, about life, plans, anything and everything. You’d talked about what it would be like if you got married - Jaemin wanted more than anything to be a photographer, though he wasn’t sure if he parents would approve, given that his dad was an accountant and he was studying economics - and how, after a few years of fast-paced city life, you would want to move to the suburbs to start a family, whether that was kids, dogs, plants even. He loved succulents, his room at college was overflowing with them. 

Jaemin was always so funny, so kind, so caring, so full of life, that you almost couldn’t recognize him as he lay, pale and small against the hospital’s sheets. You squeezed his hand, which was already far too cool, but couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. It was all too much as everyone said their final goodbyes, then left the room one by one until it was just his parents left. You’re glad you didn’t have to watch as the doctors removed his life support, have to hear as the heart monitor ticked down until it became a shriek, then a whine, then nothing. You’re glad you didn’t have to watch him die.

Black. Black is how you’ve been feeling since you lost Jaemin, and now, standing at the graveside as the rain pours down in sheets, it’s all you can see. Your vision is filled with black umbrellas like they always have in the movies, except this isn’t a movie, this is your life, and the love of your life has just been forcibly removed from it. 

Suddenly, every feeling you’d been pushing down, every tear you haven’t shed, comes rushing back, all at once, and it’s far too much for your poor, beaten body. The world spins in front of you, you knees weaken, and you would have sunk the ground in a listless heap had you not been caught by a pair of strong arms. 

Looking up, blinking tears away tears and raindrops, you are met with a pair of dark, half moon eyes. Normally prone to smiling, they are anything but, instead mirroring all the heartbreak you feel inside. _Jeno,_ you whisper, before the black on the edges of your vision closes in like one of Jaemin’s camera lenses, and you know no more.

You awake nestled in soft, warm sheets, and for a moment you think you smell lavender. _Jaemin?_ You whisper, reaching to the other side of the bed. But it only takes a few moments for you to remember. Sitting up, so fast your head spins again, you are met with sleek decor and unfailing coldness of a hotel room. It’s cramped, there’s really only room for a small TV, a coffee table, the bed you’re lying in, and an old, striped armchair. 

In the chair sits none other than Jeno, still dressed in his funeral attire, black tie undone around his neck, white shirt unbuttoned to reveal the pale skin of his throat. At your words, he looks up from the slim book of poetry he’s reading. _What happened?_ You say, rubbing your head. _Where am I?_

 _You fainted at the funeral._ Though it’s been years since you’ve heard his voice, an overwhelming sense of familiarity flickers through you at its low rumble.Jeno runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, and with a pang, you remember that it was blond the last time you saw each other. _I brought you back to my hotel room to let you sleep it off._

You nod, feeling lightheaded again. You suppose you should be more embarrassed at the thought of Jeno carrying you through the hotel lobby, looking tiny and sodden in his strong arms, but instead, all you feel is numb. _I’ve missed you,_ you say quietly.

Jeno looks at you, those sad eyes curling up briefly into what resembles a smile. _Me too._

You’d first met Jeno at a party freshman year, some function thrown by the fraternity Jaemin loosely associated with, Nu Chi Theta. Normally you hated frat parties, keeping to the corners where you could nurse a soju and people watch in peace, but providence that night hadn’t let you. Jaemin was running a little late - he said he had a friend coming to visit that weekend. Given the fact that you weren’t official, and had only been on a few dates, you were a little miffed, but that’s what happens when you’re dating one of the most popular guys in the year. 

You were been pulled out of your moping and thoughts about whether Jaemin’s _friend_ was hotter than you by a voice. _Is this corner taken?_

You turned and found yourself staring at one of the most beautiful boys you’d ever seen. Tall, pale, with a light blond undercut that flopped over and just brushed the top of a high, impossibly angular cheekbone. Curving lips that looked like they were made to kiss. Gorgeous, half moon eyes that were currently scrunched up in light amusement, and maybe a bit of embarrassment. 

_I suppose not,_ you’d said, taking a long sip of soju. 

_Well, I checked all the other corners, and none of them looked as nice as this one,_ he’d deadpanned. 

_And how’s that?_

_You looked like you were having less fun than me, and wouldn’t get mad at me for saying so._

And that’s how you met Lee Jeno. Decidedly moody, yet with a rare smile that could shake the heavens, a self-proclaimed people hater who unconditionally loved the few friends he had fiercely, he burned with a quiet intelligence seldom seen in many guys your age. At least, this was what you discovered after you found out that he was Jaemin’s best friend.

You’d been half way into the meeting part of a college party meet cute, talking about how you both adored the work of Charles Baudelaire but abhorred his disciple Proust, when Jaemin appeared. _Oh, I see you’ve already met,_ he’d said, grinning brightly and throwing an arm around you. _Jeno, this is the girl I’ve been telling you so much about._

At that very moment, a combination of the dusty curtains pressing into your back and your latent dust allergies struck in full force. If you hadn’t been busy sneezing, you might have noticed the slight fall in Jeno’s face, the slight deflation of his broad shoulders, but you didn’t. The rest of the night passed like a fever dream, Jaemin introducing you to all of his NCT friends (you teamed up to beat a very cocky team of Donghyuck and Lucas in beer pong), chattering about anything and everything, pulling you into his side every so often for a hug, staring down with you an absolutely whipped expression. That night, he kissed you in the hallway outside your room and asked you to be his girlfriend, and of course you said yes. Any warm feelings that were tied to Jeno’s smiling eyes or his sharp wit (that he would always insist wasn’t funny) quickly evaporated.

But Jeno’s presence didn’t. He and Jaemin had planned to go to university together in Korea, but when Jaemin had gotten an offer from your school, he couldn’t pass it up. Jeno was immensely disappointed, but did get into a specialty program, one that sent all its first year students abroad for their first semester, and had immediately applied to your school. 

Jeno and Jaemin considered each other brothers, and as such, you wound up spending a lot of time with both. Jeno wasn’t particularly preoccupied with making friends for only a semester, and was in general considered to be what Jaemin’s roommate Renjun would refer to as ‘an unfunny homebody,’ so Jaemin wound up dragging up him out a lot. For the first semester, it felt a lot like you were dating both Jaemin and Jeno, often going to parties, movies, restaurants, even art expos (Renjun’s) and plays (Donghyuck’s) together. You suspected that most normal people would have more of an issue with their boyfriend’s childhood best friend third wheeling them everywhere, but it never felt like that. Jeno was in many ways a balm to Jaemin’s worst qualities, infinitely more grounded and interested in talking about deeper, more philosophical topics. It wasn’t that Jaemin was an airhead, but he just didn’t love knowledge and introspection in the same way you and Jeno did. On nights when Jaemin would either be too overstretched keeping up with his multitudes of friends or catching up on the mountains of homework he accrued as a result of said friends, you and Jeno would often eat dinner at the dining hall or head downtown, grabbing tteokbokki or hotteok from the street vendor you loved so much as you explored old bookshops, art galleries, you even once dragged him to the aquarium where he spent the whole time complaining about how keeping fish in captivity was cruel, but you caught him smiling at the otter exhibit when he thought you weren’t looking.

In short, you didn’t realize just how much you liked Jeno until the fateful day when he told you he’d booked his ticket back to Korea. You’d known the date was coming, of course, as finals and holiday vacation edged ever nearer, but hadn’t really thought of it seriously until he mentioned it, chopsticks digging into the big bowl of sticky rice you were sharing in the dining hall. The thought of Jeno leaving hit you in the heart, harder than you would’ve ever expected, and when you’d seen Jaemin later that night, he’d asked you why you looked so down. You’d simply said you were stressed about finals, to which he’d immediately jumped up to make you tea, then come back to give you a massage while the water boiled. Thinking back on it, this was the first time you ever lied to him - you sometimes wondered, years later, about why you didn’t just say you were going to miss Jeno. Maybe it was because Jaemin wasn’t always the best at emotional support, or maybe it was really because in all those nights with Jeno spent rhapsodizing about French philosophers, debating whether modern art could really be considered art, in all that time, you’d fallen a little bit in love with the boy your boyfriend considered a brother.

You’d cried as you saw Jeno off at his boarding gate, sniffling into his broad chest as he gave you a rare hug. _Don’t cry,_ he’d said, eyes curving into a big smile. _We’ll see each other again soon, don’t worry. After all, Jaemin and I haven’t been friends all these years for nothing._

Jaemin had just laughed and pulled you into a hug of his own, joking about Jeno stealing his girlfriend, saying that he would be back before he knew it. But life, as it often is, was unpredictable. A combination of busy schedules and the fact that they were on different continents caused Jeno and Jaemin to talk less often, and so you felt guilty keeping up with Jeno at the same level when he wasn’t as close with Jaemin. That was what you told yourself, at least. The texts got shorter, the Snaps got less frequent, and as your and Jaemin’s relationship blossomed, Jeno gradually took up less and less of your heart. You hadn’t talked to him since wishing him a happy birthday last spring, to which he’d been polite and appreciative, but clearly not looking for a conversation past pleasantries. As far as you knew, he had gotten a part time job working in a bookstore that specialized in rare and out-of-print texts, and was at least seeing someone, if not all that seriously. From the way he wrote, it sounded like he was much happier, finally having gotten over his hatred of people and making some good friends. You’d wondered whether time away from his home had been just what he needed.

You look at Jeno, eyes drinking him in for the first time in nearly two years. He looks taller, older, more confident, but you can still see the shell of the angry teenager, the cynical philosopher who was misunderstood by nearly everyone, save you and Jaemin. _Jaemin,_ you say, then break down crying again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jeno looks slightly alarmed as you shiver and shake in your wet funeral dress, crying so hard you can barely breathe. He may wax poetic about deep metaphysical emotions and ethics, but crying women have never really been something he’s good at handling. Torn between wanting to give you a hug (he isn’t sure how you would react, after not seeing him for so long) and wanting to call someone, anyone else better equipped to calm you down and make you feel better (he just buried the only person he knows who could do that), he compromises. 

_I ordered tteokbokki,_ he says (he hasn’t). _From that place we used to go to._

_Really?_

He nods, though he kicks himself when he remembers that the guy doesn’t have DoorDash or anything like that, you tried once when you were sick with the flu and he’s not on any of the ordering apps. He’ll have to go out and get it. 

Jeno mumbles that you’ll catch cold in your wet clothing, fishing out a large sweatshirt from his suitcase and gently pushing you towards the bathroom, suggesting a hot shower. Twisting the shower handle, waving a hand under the water to make sure it’s the right temperature, he practically shoves you under the spray before leaving the hotel room.

_What the hell am I doing?_ He thinks ruefully, as his feet carry him down the streets he knows by heart. _How has my life gotten to be so odd that I’m out at ten o’clock in the morning buying tteokbokki for my dead best friend’s girlfriend?_ When he gets to the corner where the cart was, he almost thinks he took a wrong turn. But after walking around the block three times, he has to concede that the street food vendor is, in fact, gone. _Just like my best friend, just like she soon will be._

Jeno shakes his head. He’s spent so many months carefully patching up the hole poked in his heart from leaving you, shedding that dark cynicism that so few understood, learning how to smile and small talk, becoming a better Jeno, being back here must make be making him a bit crazy. 

He’s almost back to the hotel when he feels guilty. You looked so thin and pale, his _eomma_ would have his head if he let you go hungry. With a slight grimace, he walks into the nearby McDonalds. The cashier is curt, and the ice cream machine is broken (just for soft serve, not milkshakes apparently), but Jeno’s feeling better about things when he enters the hotel room again, clutching a big greasy bag to his chest.

What he’s not prepared for is the sight of you lying on his bed, wearing his giant Yonsei University hoodie, hair damp and eyes empty. Heat flames in his cheeks - he knows his eyes really shouldn’t be jumping to where the material rides up your bare thigh, or looking at the face that’s only gotten prettier than his memories, but the sight of you in his clothing is rather arresting. That was the first thing Jaemin had said to him, before he even met you, that he was talking to this girl who was not only super cute but also smart, so much so that he sometimes couldn’t keep up with her. Little did he know how much Jeno would come to love both parts of you.

_Love?_ Jeno rips his eyes from you and busies himself with unpacking the McDonald’s bag. A quarter pounder (no cheese, extra sauce) and a Coke for him, chicken nuggets and a strawberry milkshake for you. That had always been your order whenever he went out for Sunday morning hangover cures. _The tteokbokki guy was gone,_ he says, feeling rather lame.

_That’s alright,_ you say, voice devastatingly soft. Afraid that you’re going to waste away right in front of him, Jeno shoves the bag at you.

You look down at the food like it’s some alien substance. Sensing Jeno’s concern, it seems, you take a small bite of chicken. _Thank you._

_It’s the least I can do._

For a while you eat silently, the only movement being Jeno standing up to get a towel to wipe his fingers. When you’ve eaten nearly all the nuggets and are chewing pensively on the striped milkshake straw, Jeno walks over and gently takes the containers from you. Placing them on the coffee table, he comes in front of you, squatting so that your faces are on a level from where you sit on the bed. 

_Are you okay?_

You look at him, eyes clearer than they have been all day, possibly from the first meal you’ve eaten in awhile. _No,_ you say simply.

Jeno stares into your eyes for one heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Two heartbeats that Jaemin is never going to have again, two heartbeats of precious time wasted. You look so miserable, so soft, the only thing he can think to do is lean in and hug you.

Your eyes widen slightly as your head presses into Jeno’s collarbone, the air nearly squeezed out of you as he pulls you close, but as you tentatively hug him back, inhaling the familiar cedary musk of his cologne, you relax. 

You stay like that for awhile, sitting on the bed, Jeno bowed towards you like a great oak being felled by a particularly rough storm, and it’s only when you feel the wetness sprinkling your head, feel the shaking of his shoulders along your cheekbone, that you realize he’s crying. In all the time you’ve known Jeno, you’ve never known him to cry for sad things. He’s the type to cry when he’s angry, according to Jaemin. So to have him like this, raw and shaking and gripping your body like it’s a lifeline, is something completely new.

Jeno draws back, hands shifting from your back to your shoulders, eyes glistening. _I’m sorry._

_For what?_

_For crying, for leaving, for falling out of contact, I don’t know. For being selfish, for wanting..._

A tear threatens to spill out of the corner of his eye, and almost on instinct, your hand shoots up to catch it. The glittering droplet sluices down your thumb, and you’re watching, prepared for it to fall into the nether-space between you, when Jeno surprises you. He takes your wrist gently and draws it toward him, pressing his lips to your thumb, and when he pulls back, your skin is dry. 

A tendril of unexpected heat passes through you at the contact, blooming as Jeno’s eyes shift back up to yours. There’s a look in them that you haven’t seen before, something dark, something you’re not sure you want to unpack. 

It’s stupid, it’s selfish, it’s exactly what you shouldn’t be doing on the day of your boyfriend’s funeral, but one moment you’re staring deep into Jeno’s eyes, then either he leans down or you lean up, or maybe you meet somewhere in the middle, and suddenly you’re kissing him.

Jeno is as shocked as you are, and for a moment, he thinks of pushing you away. _This is wrong,_ his brain screams. Not an hour ago, he buried Jaemin, he shouldn’t want to be kissing his best friend’s girlfriend. But it’s not a matter of want, so much as need, he realizes, as his lips slide against yours hungrily.

He’s still wearing that stupid dress shirt, so you grab him by the lapels and pull him towards you. Jeno makes a noise in the back of his throat, sinking to his knees, hands coming to rest lightly on either side of your jaw. He kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters, like he’s drowning and you’re the siren who’s going to save him, hang the danger of a watery grave to boot. His hand tangles into your hair, tying him to the only thing that has felt real since getting the fateful phone call. Your silken tongue darts out, caressing his, and he can’t help but moan slightly against your lips. God, you’re sexy, he’s always thought so, even when you were Jaemin’s. 

_Jaemin’s_. The thought has him reeling back to earth and he pushes back from you, feeling like he’s been electrocuted. Hot shivers run up and down his spine as he looks down at you, at your lips, swollen from his kisses, at your hair, mussed where he pulled it. Though he’d dreamed of kissing you many times since meeting you, even gotten off in the darkness of his bedroom late at night thinking of you, cheeks burning with shame, he’s always known the natural order of things: you are Jaemin’s. Jaemin is yours. He loves Jaemin, therefore he will do nothing to make Jaemin unhappy.

But now that Jaemin is gone, what does that make him? What does that make you? You’re the one person related to Jaemin that he has left, the missing piece to his vibrant puzzle of a best friend, someone he’s cared for deeply in the past. It feels wrong to be doing this, but so right.

You, on the other hand, aren’t thinking at all. You’ve been thinking so much for the last few days, sleeping so little, your body is running almost on pure habit and instinct, and the only thought pumping through your body like blood is Jeno, Jaemin, Jaemin, Jeno, and for a moment, you see the ghost of your boyfriend in his best friend’s face. They make the same expression when faced with indecision. _Made._ You wonder what would have happened if Jaemin hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend that night. Would you have been with Jeno instead? If he hadn’t been cleaning for date night, would Jaemin have fallen at all?

Jeno can see the thoughts running across your mind, see the indecision in your face, and it physically hurts him to see you this way. It’s selfish to want you like this, it’s wrong to even want you at all, but he does, and it hurts him. _We don’t have to do this._

Jeno’s lips form these words, he pulls back, but his hands are trembling, his eyes black as a shark’s, a wild light shining in them. The Jeno you know would see it as the height of betrayal to even associate with anyone Jaemin considered an ex. 

But as you reach forward, hand closing softly on the closest part of Jeno you can find - his forearm - you think maybe it’s not just giving into whatever latent feelings he had for you, he’s holding a piece of his best friend, and he refuses to let go. He allows himself to be pulled towards you, a planet slowly coming off its rotation, a moth slowly drawn to a flame. You stop when he’s mere millimeters from you, lips so close they would brush if you spoke. Closing your eyes, shielding the part of your mind, your heart, that has come to be known as Jaemin, you lean forward, finding Jeno’s lips in the darkness. For a moment, all is still, then you can almost feel the moment when he surrenders. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jeno kisses you with a desperate hunger, hands drawing your legs around his waist as he kneels in front of you. Your fingers splay across his cheekbones, holding his head in place as he licks into your mouth. Heat shoots through your body, pooling in your lower abdomen as his soft lips slide against yours, again and again, leaving you breathless. Pulling him closer against you, raising your hips slightly in an effort to relieve some of the delicious tension, you fall backwards onto the bed. Jeno grunts in surprise, nearly falling on you, but managing to land on his strong forearms, planted on either side of your head. 

Your hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, fingers ghosting across his beautiful skin as you push the fabric away. He shivers a little as the backs of your nails scrape the muscle cording his broad shoulders. Your thumbs flick into the space between his belt and waistline, brushing teasingly over the indents in his hips as you draw him over you. 

Jeno’s hands, so strong and calloused from hours spent at the gym, are soft, nearly timid as they slowly push your hoodie up, peeling it up and over your head, leaving you only in your plain bra and underwear. An insane laugh threatens to bubble up in your throat as you mentally apologize for not wearing lingerie to a funeral.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he drops his head, pressing soft kisses against your throat as he releases the clasp on your bra, pushing it aside, sucking lightly as his hand trails down your stomach. His fingers brush across the cotton, which is already a little damp from your arousal. Tired and emotionally wrung out as you are, just that light touch has you moving against him, seeking friction as he draws down your underwear. Your motions unintentionally cause him to brush up against the center of your need, the heel of his hand bumping against your clit, and you whine, needing more contact.

Jeno draws his lower lip between his teeth as he sinks one, then two, fingers into you. You gasp at the sensation, biting down on your lip as he begins to finger you. While sex with Jaemin sometimes felt like a race, trying to see how fast one could edge the other or make them come the fastest, Jeno takes his time. Not knowing your body well, he moves slowly, fingers exploring, judging exactly which angles and which pace you like best by the sound of your moans, by the tightening of your fingers on his bicep. His fingers ignite a fire inside you, heat rising along your skin, sending shivers up your back, your neck, as he works your body, using the same care and focus he exercises in every aspect of his life. You cry out as his thumb presses into your clit, and his eyes jump to you, fearful, but you just nod. Jeno’s touch is like an astringent, your body pulling tight against his fingers, waves of pleasure running through you until you’re clenching against his hand, heat singing through every part of your body. 

Jeno sits back, watching with lips slighted parted as you come down, but you pull him close again, lips sinking into his, reaching to brush your fingers against his clothed cock. Jeno shivers, leaning into your touch. Fumbling with his belt, you push down his pants and underwear with reckless abandon. Pumping him a few times, you threading your legs around his waist, guiding him to your entrance, mouth falling open slightly at the stretch, hands coming to rest on his biceps as he pushes slowly inside.

He stills, allowing your body to adjust, until you nod, knuckles white. He begins to move, slowly at first, then faster as you move against him. He lets out a soft moan as you set your nails into his back, grinding your hips up to meet his thrusts. It’s been so long since he’s lost himself in someone else like this, let alone with someone he knows and lo-

_Fuck._ The thought makes him move faster, thrusting into your body with reckless abandon until you’re mewling against him, mouth falling open, head pressed into the pillows. Was this how Jaemin saw you, so pretty and fucked out and sweaty and--

A million shattered thoughts run through your brain as Jeno beings thrusting with renewed speed, kissing your lips feverishly. His hands grip your thighs tightly, his face twisting in pleasure as he snaps his hips forward. It’s like he’s falling, and you’re his parachute, his safety line, you’re all that’s keeping him together. Or maybe these are your thoughts, because it’s you who’s gripping his hair by the roots, moaning into his mouth, holding onto him for dear life as his cock strokes you in all the right ways, shocks of pleasure running up and down your skin, making you shiver as his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, peppering your skin with soft kisses, which quickly turn harder as you moan, hands tightening in his hair. You come like that, with him deep inside you, sucking marks into your skin, your hands threaded through his dark hair, sinking your teeth into his shoulder to suppress your moans. A whisper slips out of your mouth. _Jaemin_.

Jeno stiffen against you, and you can feel the slight tightening of his hands on your thighs. _I’m sorry. I just..._

_You loved him._ Jeno says this boldly, coldly. Like he wasn’t just sunk deep into you, whispering your name like a prayer against your soft skin, allowing himself to feel for the first time in awhile. _So did I._

_I...I miss, him, Jeno. I’m sorry, you can hate me now._

Jeno rolls off of you. A hot wave of fear runs through you, and for a moment you think he’s just going to leave, but then he’s taking your hand in his, pulling you over his chest. Not having come before, he’s still half hard beneath you. _Use me._

You look down at him, and he looks right back, eyes half-lidded, mouth soft. _Jeno..._

_Use me._

Slowly, so slowly, you take him in your hand and start stroking him. A soft groan rumbles in his throat, and he bites down on his lower lip as you sink down onto him. Little shocks of pleasure emanate from each point of contact, your hands on his chest, his on your hips, long fingers tightening as you ride him. The world falls away as you move together, sweat-slicked skin sliding back and forth, soft moans falling from your lips. For a moment, you’re not Jaemin’s girlfriend, Jeno isn’t Jaemin’s Jeno, you’re just two people who could have been, would have been, had time and space not ripped you apart. There’s a hole in both your hearts, a Jaemin-shaped hole, but just for an instant, you’re almost whole, you’re not alone in your grief, you two might be the only people on the planet who know how the other is feeling. Tears begin to prickle your eyes, and suddenly you’re crying, hot tears splashing down onto Jeno’s chest as you falter. 

But Jeno is there to catch you, sitting up, a hand diving into your hair, cradling you to his chest as he begins to thrust up into you. It doesn’t take long for either of you to come in this position, and when it’s over you just hold each other, and as his chin presses into the top of your head, you can feel the wetness of his own tears slipping into your hair. 

You stay that way for a long time, just holding each other, and it’s only when your phone vibrates that you break apart. Looking down at the screen, you see that it’s a text from one of your parents, asking where you are.

_Do you need to go?_ Jeno captures your hand, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a whisper of invitation.

You shake your head. Texting back that you’re with a friend, you just need some away from home, you place your phone on the bedside table and allow Jeno to pull you into his broad chest. His arms circle around you, pulling you close like he’ll never let go. You just lie there for a while, breathing gradually slowing until you drift off into sleep. 

In your dreams, you run through a meadow, long white dress flowing behind you, chasing after a beautiful boy in a daisy crown. The breeze ruffles his dark hair, and you call out his name, laughing. He turns, and through the sparkling sunlight, you can almost make out his face as you come nearer. One step, two steps...

But just before you see his face, you wake.

Opening your eyes, you half expect Jeno to have left, to leave you a note saying what you did was wrong, dirty, a mistake, but no. Sometime in the night he let go of you, so you awake facing him. He looks so soft, so young in sleep, none of the glares or hard lines you’re so used to. You reach forward to brush the hair out of his eyes, which flutter open at your touch. _Hi._

_Hi,_ he says, voice raspy from sleep.

_Is this corner taken?_ It’s a phrase that seems a lifetime ago, from another world, before you really knew Jeno or Jaemin or daisy crowns or life or death or grief.

For a moment, Jeno looks shocked, then he bursts out laughing. _There’s no one like you, you know that?_

And though you still hurt, though your heart feels the midnight sky when all the stars have gone out, there’s now a glimmer of hope, swimming just on the edges of tangibility. Come what may, you know you have someone who knows, who loves, who understands what is to have a Jaemin-shaped hole your heart, now and forever.


End file.
